Somebody Who Cares
by Alone Dreaming
Summary: Christopher Chant tries to change his ways but nobody seems to realize it. Oneshot.


_**Somebody Who Cares**_

**By Alone Dreaming**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything that remotely looks like it belongs to Diana Wynne Jones. If I did, this wouldn't be posted under fanfiction. **

**Author's Note: This was written ages ago when I was bored out of my mind. I really don't know if I have some of the names straight or not. I am currently not in possession of my book. I think I gave it to a friend who never gave it back (we had a falling out) so I doubt I will gain access to a book in a while. Please be lenient. This was not beta'd. I'm truly sorry. I just wanted to post it**

----

Christopher sunk onto a chair that he had managed to stumble across. This had officially been the longest and most trying night of his life. Forget night; try day; or better yet, the past two days. His mind was swirling and cluttered with numerous memories and events that had occurred in the last thirty six hours. It was giving him a headache, all this thinking, making him woozy and tired. Or it could just be that he only had one life, and he wasn't used to it. Curse the Dright.

The Dright; he pondered if the Dright was even alive any longer. The last time he had seen the tyrant, his clothes were on fire and he was desperately trying to put out the fire that was consuming Christopher's eighth life. It had not looked good for the life or the overlord as far as Christopher could remember. Not that what he could remember told him much; he had been in so much terrible pain, he was surprised he could remember anything about it at all.

The chair seemed to grow softer as Christopher's eyes grew heavier. Usually, the chair would have seemed quite spartan to him but right now, it was heavenly. Drowsily, he rested his head on his hand, allowing his mind to drift to happier memories of when he was a child and he traveled the Anywheres with out such worry. However, he jerked away from this when his mind rested upon the mermaids.

He had helped his uncle do so many awful things. If anyone deserved to be imprisoned, he did! Had it not been for him, half of the orders would have never been transported and the mermaids might have been saved. Miserably, he remembered how fond of him they had been, how trusting. 'They never stood a chance,' he considered with a soft groan. 'They would have gone right up to my uncle's men.'

He was so caught up in his thoughts, he was taken by surprise when a rather perturbed maid grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. She dragged him up and out of the chair, informing him rather savagely that he might be the hero of the hour but there was much work to be done before he could take a rest. She shoved him in the direction of the door, telling him to help remove the mess he had put up around the gates.

With a sigh, Christopher slowly dragged himself past the Goddess and Mother Proudfoot. They were in deep discussion and took little notice of him. Then, as he thought of it, only the maid had so much as looked at him in a while; he wished resentfully that she hadn't. Things seemed almost back to the way they had been before Mordecai had been captured.

He was out the door now, shuffling across the perfect lawn. There were people rushing around him, moving prisoners, helping the injured. No one took the time to talk to him, to tell him he had done a good job. No one so much as looked at him. He had to admit, it hurt a bit, deep down. He had done so much and they weren't even saying 'thank you' or 'good job'. They wouldn't even let him rest when he had given a life for them.

Shuddering, he rubbed his arms as the night air seemed to become colder. He was so exhausted. The weak feeling from having only one life was eating away at him slowly but surely, and all he wanted was to fall asleep. The grass was even starting to look comfortable now, making him have to resist the urge to lie down on it. However, resisting seemed so stupid and futile. Why ignore his need to sleep? He had done so much already for them.

He discovered about two seconds later that they didn't REALLY care. One of the many gardeners came up behind him, and hurriedly told him that they needed help with the poison and brambles. A quick explanation on how to counter the spells went in one ear and out the other, leaving Christopher standing in front of a poison slick wall without a clue as to remove it.

Foggily, he did the first thing that came to mind. Conjuring water, he started to spray the wall down. The wall hissed, letting off a highly unpleasant smell. Christopher continued allowing the water to fall, for even though the smell was awful, the poison seemed to melting away. He was barely focusing as it was, and calling upon any more powerful magic might be catastrophic. His arm was burning slightly and he wasn't quite sure why. 'Probably remnants from the fire spell,' he thought.

"What in the name of all that's good are you doing?!" a rather agitated voice cried.

Immediately, Christopher ceased the spell, the ground tipping beneath him. His body seemed ready to collapse right then, but he wouldn't let it. Turning to the person, he took in a deep breath to reply-

-and immediately decided against it. A rather irritable Gabriel de Witt was standing behind him, glaring at the wall. Turning his head slightly, Christopher could see that instead of ridding the wall of the foul substance, he had simply made it wet and drippy. He had only made everything worse. 'Why can't they just let me lie down?' he demanded silently.

"I was only trying to help," Christopher replied, "I didn't-"

Gabriel's severe face spoke of complete and total disbelief. It was then that Christopher realized exactly how little Gabriel trusted him; or liked him. 'I deserve it, after how I've treated all of them. I'd be surprised if anybody liked me around here.' He watched Gabriel remove the poison with a flick of the hand, and Christopher hung his head. He probably would have known that had he paid attention during Gabriel's classes.

Gabriel's voice was strained and tense. As calm as he had been when talking to Mother Proudfoot, it seemed as though everything was starting to weigh down on him. Lines creased the old, sharp face and hard eyes studied Christopher.

Slowly, he began to speak. "Christopher, I know you enjoy making things hard around here, but please, we have so much in our hands right now. At this rate, it will take at least a week to set things straight and I know how much you want that sixth life of yours back. I probably won't be able to do it if you decide to cause problems."

Christopher simply stared at him blankly, not sure if he had heard Gabriel clearly. He had just gone, saved the old man's life, and managed to catch the Wraith and he still didn't get any respect. Sure, he might have been really terrible before, but could someone at least realize now he was trying to change his ways? Hanging his head, he stared at the ground feeling frustrated and almost physically ill with exhaustion.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "Really, I was just trying to help. I didn't know how to remove it."

Gabriel's voice still held an edge. "Then you should have asked. Go inside and see if any help is needed in there." Then he turned and briskly started across the grounds.

Christopher's legs felt heavy. Sinking onto the grass, he wrapped his arms around his knees, resting his chin on top of them. Tears were coming to his eyes, and he didn't even try to wipe them away. Why couldn't someone understand that he was trying to change? Why hadn't he realized he was so awful? Burying his face, he let a few sobs escape him.

Something rubbed against him; something furry and smelly, "Wong?"

Christopher knew it was Throngmorten without even looking up. He moved, allowing the cat to crawl into his lap. Sinking into the thick, rather foul-smelling fur, he continued to cry for everything. For how stupid and mean he had been. For the mermaids his uncle had slain. There just seemed to be a reason to let all his worries and pain out.

Throngmorten had never been quite so affectionate. He rubbed his rather smash face against Christopher, making sounds of sympathy and understanding. The comfort was just enough to give Christopher some strength. It was nice to know at least the cat cared though Throngmorten was no replacement for a human. Sniffling and wiping his eyes, Christopher unwrapped himself from around the cat and stroked its head. There were people moving all around him, and yet none of them seemed to care.

Slowly standing with the cat in his arms, he started towards the house. Find something to do inside. Gabriel had wanted him not to cause any trouble, so he wouldn't. He would go to his room and go to bed. They could call him lazy all they wanted to but at the moment, he barely cared. If they didn't care enough to see he was doing his best to make up for what he did, then he didn't care enough to keep trying.

The castle door seemed to bob out of reach, and he was distantly wondering if the Goddess had spelled his feet once more. Throngmorten was making sounds of worry in the back of his throat. Christopher attempted to give him a reassuring smile but his lips didn't want to cooperate. They were set in a permanent frown of upset and worry for the moment. Setting the cat down, he allowed it to walk next to him instead.

Without Throngmorten's weight, his feet stopped feeling quite as leaden. The castle door seemed to be getting a bit closer. Watching his feet, he willed them to move. 'Right, left, right, left, right…..' He was paying so little attention that he was quite surprised when he crashed into someone. He stumbled backwards, just barely keeping on his feet. Another lecture was coming now. He had just run into someone.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Wasn't looking where I was going….."

"Well you should!" the person snapped, running around him.

Sighing heavily, he went into the house, finding it in total uproar. So many people running around, escorting the Wraith's associates, questioning servants; it was pure insanity. Christopher allowed him to be jostled, yelled at and shoved out of the way as he made the way up the stairs towards his room. Throngmorten had been separated from him somewhere, and he was all alone again.

Never before had he been happy to see his bed. He literally collapsed onto it, and just barely shed his shoes before his head hit the pillow. His vision darkened, and he was dragged into a well deserved sleep.

---

He was sitting in the fine, white sand, building a castle. The sun was bright in the baby blue sky and he felt utterly content. Nearby, flipping around in the water, the funny ladies were giggling. They would swim closer and spray him every once in a while, their tinkling laughter filling the air.

"What are you clistopher?" they called as they played. "What are you?"

He grinned at them, and didn't respond, knowing it was all a part of their games. Looking away from his sandcastle, and the mermaids, he caught a glimpse of something in the distance. It was coming closer and closer, carrying something in one hand. It was aiming for the funny ladies.

Fear stopped up his throat, hampering his attempts to warn the mermaids. Uncle Ralph was coming! Uncle Ralph was going to hurt them! He had to help them! He had to tell them to get away! But he couldn't, something was keeping his voice from working.

A bang went off, and a bright red light shot across his vision. When it cleared, the water was filled with packages that gave off an utterly fishy smell. His stomach churned as they washed up onto shore. Something suddenly plopped into his lap, giving off a distinct scent. He looked down, and saw a salmon sandwich resting in his lap. A yell escaped him, and he-

-shot straight up in bed. He barely had time to summon himself a bowl before he began to wretch violently. There was very little in his stomach, leaving him heaving dryly after only a few seconds. Panting helplessly, he clenched his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on something else. The dream pranced vividly across his mind. The poor, poor mermaids……

Slowly, his breathing began to even out, and his stomach resorted to doing violent somersaults. He was in his bed, and the sun was setting outside his window. No one had noticed he was missing. He was unsure if that was a good or a bad thing.

Feeling weak and jittery, he sent the bowl to his bathroom, unable to get up himself. The room itself seemed very cold, even with him wearing all the furs that he had forgotten to remove the night before. With effort, he removed them, leaving him in his normal clothing. Flinging onto the ground, he fell back against the pillows. The visit to the Dright had been pointless except to save Tacroy's soul-

Tacroy!

He sat back up, remembering that his friend was still in quite a bit of trouble. Christopher had told them not to send him to jail. Yes, he had told them. That probably meant they either forgot or decided not to listen. Worry bit at him, and he slowly began to drag himself out of bed. He would have to tell them that Tacroy didn't deserve to be in jail! He would have to help Tacroy out!

As soon as he stood up, the world tilted wildly causing him to fall back onto the bed. His head spun in crazy circles, creating a black swirling vortex in the back of his mind. He just barely managed to pull the blankets over himself before the darkness sucked him in. Tacroy would simply have to wait.

---

The next time he awoke, it was to someone shaking his shoulder none to gently. He didn't even have the strength to pull away. All he managed to do was open his eyes, and stare with blurred vision up at the person who was bothering him. A rather irritated maid was standing there, impatience lining her every feature.

"About time!" she cried. Christopher noted from his position she looked particularly haggard and tired. "Get up! It's nearly nine! You'll miss breakfast at this rate!" She moved to gather up the furs he had tossed off the night before. Or was it the night before that? He couldn't really remember.

"I-" his voice sounded so hoarse. "I'm coming." There was nothing else he could say. Everyone seemed to think he had reverted back to his old self. As soon as the maid left the room in an angry storm, he shuddered. It had simply gotten colder since he had last been awake and his head was heavier. His arm was burning worse, and he looked down to see swollen red spots on it. What was that from?

Painfully, he stood up, fighting back the nausea and dizziness. He was ill wasn't he? But would they believe him if he complained about it? No, probably not. They would think he was simply trying to get out of lessons. Feverishly, he stumbled around his room, fumbling with his fresh clothing. He wanted to go lie down on his bed again.

He had finally changed his clothes, and looked in the mirror to make sure they seemed neat enough. His own appearance shocked him. His dark hair was messy, and unkempt, hanging around his overly pale face. Didn't he look ill enough to be allowed to rest? Or did everyone else look so over worked that he just seemed normal?

He sighed and slowly headed towards his door. Maybe if he just walked permanently into a different Anywhere, everyone would be happy. After all, he was only good for something when Gabriel wasn't around. Now that Gabriel was back, he was just Christopher again. Miserable, rotten, self centered Christopher who didn't care about anyone or anything; but why did that feel so off all of the sudden?

'It must be because I only have one life,' he thought miserably, realizing that it had taken all this time just to reach his door. 'I'm just not used to it. That's all. I'll be fine soon enough…..'After all, Gabriel had promised to fetch his life from where the Goddess had left it. Perhaps he had even done it by now. A slight bit of hope was kindled in the young man's chest and he felt as though he would be able to move a bit faster.

However, the hope only helped him take a few more steps. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the ground, trembling with both emotional and physical pain. He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to be the little boy he had been so many years ago. The boy that everyone liked and cared about. He wanted to be the child that had received gifts from mermaids, and kings and merchants. He didn't want to be the sullen, angry Christopher.

'But wasn't I the old Christopher?' he thought, recalling how he had only been caring about others for the past day or two. 'I wasn't being the terrible Christopher when I saved everyone, was I? When I was only thinking about Tacroy, was I still being selfish?' He wasn't sure about anything anymore. No one seemed to believe that he could change. No one seemed to believe that he had changed. No one seemed to believe that he had never meant to be the monster that he had turned into.

Resting his head on his knees, he stared at the floor beneath him. It blurred as tears came to his eyes. He had made such a mess. Such a wretched, horrid mess; he couldn't fix it either. Nothing he seemed to do anymore could set things right. He was no longer able to change things, to make things good again. There were simply too many things wrong. He had tried and failed.

Tears trailed from his eyes, gathering at his chin and dripping to the floor. He didn't care about breakfast, or lessons, or Gabriel's opinion or anyone's opinion for that matter. He wasn't really sure he cared about anything. Maybe it was because no one cared about him really. That was his own fault, but it still hurt. He wanted someone to care right about now. He wanted someone to stroke his forehead, and tell him things would work out for the best. He wanted that someone to note he wasn't well, and to put him to bed. He wanted that someone to tell him he wasn't a complete and utter failure.

Christopher heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and heading towards him. Whoever it was, the person wasn't going to get him to move. He was just going to sit here until someone cared. 'And that means' he thought sadly, 'I'm going to be sitting here for a very long while.'

"Christopher! There you are! I thought you had been fetched! It's time for your lessons!" A gentle hand shook his shoulder and then quickly retracted. "Christopher? Are you even listening to me? Are you being sulky?" The hand touched his shoulder again. "Are you well?"

He shook his head and whispered slowly, "Am I a bad person?"

"Of course not," the person said quickly. "What on Earth gave you that idea? You are admittedly difficult at some points and you most certainly have been self-centered since you've came here but-"

"I am a bad person!" Christopher cried, watching his tears drip onto the carpet. "Only a bad person would be so snotty to people who are only ever kind. Only a bad person would purposely disobey. Only a bad person would allow their uncle to do such evil things! O-"

The person – Christopher was still not sure who it was – drew him into a tight hug, muffling his words. "Easy now," he or she said. "Easy. A bad person would not have put so much hard effort into saving Gabriel. A bad person would not have been able to save the world. A bad person would have turned up their nose and refused. You are not a bad person, Christopher."

It was a comfort to have someone say that to him. Christopher was not sure he believed it but it felt good all the same. It felt even better to have someone give him a hug and he found himself relaxing into it. His arm was throbbing, his head hurt, his stomach was rolling but for the first time in a while, he felt as though someone cared for him. He didn't feel that someone cared for him because he was the future Chrestomanci. No, he felt like someone cared for him because he was Christopher. Not because all of his nine lives gathered in one place.

"Christopher? Are you well?"

He didn't want to talk anymore. He just wanted to stay where he was and savor the feeling of being loved. It was not something he often felt. No one had wanted him for who he was ever since he could remember. Only the people in the Anywheres had liked him. But now, someone here and now was comforting him and telling him he wasn't awful. If this could last forever, he would be happy.

"Oh God! You're burning up! Christopher? Can you hear me?"

"Mmmm," Christopher replied, his mind fogged over with confused feelings. "Wake me up later." And he passed into dark oblivion.

His last faint thought was that everything was okay. He had someone who loved him; there was someone who cared. He wasn't bad. He was good. He wasn't evil like his uncle was. He was a person who helped other people. He was a person who saved the world.

And for some reason, that was all that mattered.

----

**The End**

----

**Hopefully it wasn't terrible. Thanks for reading. Review if you have a second!**


End file.
